


Not in a Fun Way

by KareliaSweet



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Accidental Blood, Awkward Sex, Bottom Hannibal, First Time, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5310128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KareliaSweet/pseuds/KareliaSweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murder Husbands try to get too frisky too fast too soon and everything goes wrong.</p><p>from the following prompt:<br/><i>Hannigram first time, "oh god you're bleeding and not in a fun way" pulled stitches bad first time sex</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Not in a Fun Way

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to write every day of this Thanksgiving break, so thank you to every one who has given kudos and feedback! Tomorrow will be the last day of freedom before I go back to (at least) twice weekly. You are all wonderful and I love you!

The healing process has been torturously slow. Their bodies have been beaten and torn once too many and their recovery period has grown sluggish, aided only by forced rest and, for Will’s part, some good bourbon.

Remarkably, the mental healing has been far simpler. Unseen wounds that had run deep and jagged for so long have been carefully tended by honesty and care, and the scars they both carried have faded under the light of gratitude and submission. They move about their new lives together in easy synchronicity, exploring this new peace with a gentleness that only comes from the surety that this is where they belong.

The first time they kiss it is unremarkable. Will passes him in the kitchen one morning, warm hand tracing the lines of his back, and Hannibal leans down to kiss him as though he has done so for years. Will reciprocates warmly and moves on to make himself a cup of coffee, neither remarking on the new affection that has passed between them. This is simply how it is now.

As the days pass, more kisses are shared, growing in both frequency and ardency. They each are equal in their pursuit, but also equally cautious as their bodies continue to knit back together.

Will’s cheek has healed the fastest, his shoulder following suit, though it still pulls threads of pain when he overuses it. Hannibal’s stomach has been far more stubborn to heal. Whilst the bullet did no internal damage, the wound was wide and unforgiving. He finds himself having to sit for long periods of time, with little to do besides read a book and stroke Will’s hair. He can feel Hannibal growing restless, watches him pace like a jungle cat before tiring too quickly and collapsing in an armchair.

He is unsurprised when Hannibal starts asking for sex. His kisses grow more fevered, more possessive, hands roaming and clutching further, longer. Will is not unwilling, in fact he’s downright aching for it, but he knows Hannibal still needs time to regain his strength. He feels the gnawing pang of frustration when one of their frenzied make-out sessions continues a hair too long, leaving them both hard and aching and unable to do much besides part themselves and calm down. Will at least has the luxury of being able to jerk off in the bathroom, but after the first couple of times he feels dirty and the slightest bit guilty, so he sits in the dark and thinks of Jack Crawford until his erection goes away. It doesn’t usually take long.

With each day that passes it grows increasingly difficult for him to deny Hannibal what they both need, especially when the man displays evidence of a very talented tongue, demonstrating wetly on Will’s trembling fingers what he could do to his cock. He offers, but Will is still somewhat of a gentleman, and the thought of coming down Hannibal’s throat when he cannot give him release without risk of injury seems distasteful.

Mostly distasteful.

He offers to try and jerk Hannibal off, but Hannibal wants all or nothing.

“If you can use your hand,” Hannibal reasons, “you can use other things,” The logic, to Will’s lust-addled brain, seems sound, but he still resists pushing further until he is sure he won’t hurt him.

Though he trusts Hannibal to be responsible for his recovery, he still inspects his stomach every day to see how his healing is progressing. They both know he has ulterior motives and neither care, especially when his fingers linger a little longer than they should, graze a little lower.

On the night when his stitches are looking particularly well-healed indeed, Hannibal drags him down for a deep and almost violent kiss, hands seeking over the planes of his back and nails digging sharp.

“I want you inside me,” Hannibal hisses, “and I will not take no for an answer.”

Will half-heartedly tries to pull free. “But I-”

All other words are silenced when Hannibal moves his hand to the front of Will’s boxers, palming the hardening length underneath and squeezing.

The talented tongue licks over his pulse before lips descend to suck a pleasant bruise.

“Now, Will.”

With a groan, Will acquiesces, sinking into Hannibal’s mouth and ignoring every rational fiber of his being that tells him this might not be the best idea.

Hannibal positions himself carefully on his back, knowing where and how to lay in such a way that his wound will not be aggravated. He parts his legs and shows Will how to prepare him, taking a glass jar from a drawer at the bedside table. Will smirks at the realization that Hannibal has been stashing lube at their bedside for weeks in anticipation.

After several minutes of nervous fingering and heavy breathing, Hannibal moves Will’s hand aside and pulls him close, guiding his cock to his entrance.

“You do not need to be gentle,” Hannibal says, and Will shakes his head.

“That’s exactly what I need to be,” Will replies, and pushes himself in.

He moves slowly, cautiously, but not without love. He strokes Hannibal’s hair, kisses his mouth, his face, tells him this is beautiful, and it is, though perhaps a little too restrained for both of them to fully enjoy.

Hannibal does his best to remain still, fine beads of sweat collecting at his brow, lower lip pulled between his teeth.

It is not how Will had imagined sex with Hannibal Lecter would be. It is a little awkward, neither of them able to fully commit to more than slow, sloppy thrusts. It’s increasingly difficult for Will to keep himself balanced on one good arm, and when he tries to shift his weight pain spikes up his shoulder and he curses.

Hannibal wraps a hand around his neck, draws him down so their chests are touching. They are hardly able to move now, Will can barely pull himself out, settling for little shifts within Hannibal that do little more than frustrate them both. Hannibal, bless his heart, is trying, covering Will’s face with kisses and proclaiming his ardor with perhaps a little more gusto than suits than the occasion.

“I’m sorry,” Will says, “I don’t think this is-” but Hannibal shushes him with his mouth and clenches tight muscles around him, and for the first time since they began this experiment something feels quite nice indeed.

“Oh,” he breathes over Hannibal’s lips, “do that again.”

Hannibal loops arms over his shoulders and shifts himself up, altering the angle just enough to give Will a little more friction, and he tightens around him as he thrusts in again. The adjustment is clearly working for him, as Will’s next thrust strikes at the sweet spot within him that makes Hannibal cry out in genuine rapture.

“Ah, Will!”

Now we’re getting somewhere, Will thinks, and quickens his pace, careful not to jostle the man beneath him, no matter how much he wants to fuck him into the headboard. It’s still not ideal, but it has been long enough since Will has had sex, longer still since it’s been really good sex, and the very notion that he is fucking a helpless Hannibal Lecter is enough to light the string of firecrackers that pull fast and snapping towards his release.

Powerless to stop the tightening within him, he grasps at Hannibal’s hair, tugging hard, and drags teeth along his throat.

“Fuck, Hannibal, I’m gonna cum.”

Hannibal moans beneath him and when Will feels a wetness spread against his belly it’s enough to undo him completely. Will lets his release break free, arching up to bury himself deep and that’s when he sees that the wetness wasn’t Hannibal coming at all, it was blood, and with a gasp of panic he pulls out.

He realizes instantly this may not have been the best of ideas.

Semen still roping out of him, he lurches forward to try and cover Hannibal’s wound, then pulls back to hold one hand over his traitorous dick. Right hand pressed hard to his stomach, left trying valiantly to catch his own cum before it sprays into an open wound, he leans forward for better leverage and promptly knees his lover square in the balls.

Hannibal cries out and pulls his knees to his chest in reflex, knocking Will’s hand aside and smearing blood everywhere. The last of his orgasm milked from him, Will wipes his cum-spattered hand down his thigh and grabs at the nearest cloth he can find to staunch the bleeding.

“Oh God,” he yells, “Oh Christ, Hannibal, I’m sorry, Jesus.”

Hannibal hisses through his teeth and presses down on his stomach.

“Medical kit… bathroom…”

Will jumps so hard he stumbles and falls to the floor, wiping a pearlescent smear into the hardwood before righting himself and running to the bathroom, cursing loudly on each step.

He takes a moment to at least wash his hands clean, and observes his reflection in as he does. Wild mussed hair, kiss-reddened lips, blood and cum staining him from chest to groin.

In retrospect, this is exactly what he thought he’d look like after having sex with Hannibal Lecter.

He grabs up the kit without drying his hands, running back to Hannibal’s side and almost slipping in the stain he’d left on the floor.

Hannibal has propped himself up on some pillows and has a hand still held to his side. Blood is no longer leaking, and he looks more put out than pained. For that, at least, Will breathes a small sigh of relief.

 “Hannibal, I’m really really sorry,” he says, opening the bag, “what can I do?”

“Find my sutures,” he replies calmly, “I will need to re-stitch myself.”

“Do you want me to do it?” he volunteers meekly

Hannibal shakes his head. “I was able to sew myself up under far worse conditions. Remember, I was a surgeon. I would like to heal without an ungodly scar.”

Will frowns. “Hey, I’ve got a good hand with a needle, you’ve seen my lures and – and this is definitely not the time to be having this fight,” he concedes, deflating instantly.

He hands him the needle sutures and Hannibal sets to work stitching himself up. On closer examination, the wound hadn’t fully re-opened, and the bleeding has almost completely stopped. It could have been worse.

It could have been a lot better, but Will chooses not to dwell on that.

He sits on the bed beside Hannibal, uncertain what to with his hands in the meantime, so he settles for petting Hannibal’s knee as he works.

Hannibal smiles, then chuckles, and soon enough his shoulders shake and he begins to laugh. It soon grows into great guffawing bellows, and he tries to hold himself still as he continues to stitch, his whole body convulsing.

Will stares at him as though he has gone mad.

“Hannibal,” he says delicately, “what the fuck?”

Tears now leaking from his eyes, Hannibal pauses in his work to set a fond hand to Will’s cheek.

“Oh Will,” he says affectionately, “how many endless nights I have dreamt of this, how many years I have spent imagining this moment. Countless, infinite fantasies.”

His lips quirk up again and an honest-to-god giggle spills out.

“And it could not have gone worse!”

The laughter escalates to near hysteria and he falls back in the bed, pulling Will’s hand to his stomach in an attempt to hold himself still. Unable to avoid the infectious humour, Will finds himself begin to bubble with laughter as well. He holds firm to Hannibal and leans down to kiss him, though both are unable to fully reciprocate between widely smiling mouths and heaving shoulders.

Eventually, they calm, giggles slowing to sighs, and Will curls into Hannibal’s side as he finishes the last of the stitches. He runs a curled hand over Hannibal’s undamaged side, knuckles softly skittering goosebumps in their wake.

“Soon,” Will says, “we’ll do this without bleeding or laughter.”

Hannibal leans into the soothing touch and cuts the last of the thread.

“At the very least without laughter,” he says, catching Will’s wrist in his hand and pressing kisses to his fingertips.

“And perhaps I will be on top next time,” he notes academically. His mouth curves into a tease and he looks down at Will.

“You clearly have no idea what you’re doing.”

The resultant affronted gasp of shock only causes them to collapse into a further peal of hysterics, and when Will tries to half-heartedly smack Hannibal’s chest he finds himself caught in a kiss that makes him forget what had upset him in the first place.

 

_Two months and four hours later._

They collapse in tandem onto sweat-soaked sheets, panting great gulps of air as though they had just run a marathon. Hannibal is crying. Will is delirious, possibly blind.

There are deep scratch marks welled with blood, welts left by teeth, and many bruises.

Hannibal reaches and pulls Will tight to his chest, and they both press gasping kisses over every exposed inch of flesh they can find. It’s hard to breathe, hard to think past the pulsing rush in their ears, and they are clearly both too satisfied to form words.

 

_Two months and four hours and thirty seven minutes later._

“I take it back,” Hannibal slurs in delight, “You clearly know what you’re doing.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> more absolute ridiculousness can be found on tumblr: [lovecrimevariations](http://lovecrimevariations.tumblr.com)


End file.
